She's Gone, It's All Gone
by Burton And Taylor
Summary: A take on Carla's mental health after the factory collapse and Rana's death. References to miscarriage/ still birth/ child loss.
1. Chapter 1

The heat from the swollen summer sun beat down against her exposed skin. Her dark hair is littered with lighter streaks, bleached by the intensity of the sun's rays.

She laughs, a deep throaty laugh, throwing her head back, her hair slipping off her shoulders and falling down her back.

The light was hazy and nothing seemed clear, the people around her ill defined, their voices merged into a soft hum, buzzing around her.

Her vision was blurred, unfocused, like her speech was so often slurred after a wine binge.

Only this time she was so far away from that past. She was a world away.

Her heart beat hard and fast and dappled shadows from the trees above danced around her.

She blinked her eyes, until the figures ahead of her came into focus.

Little dark curls, secured with a dusky pink bow, bounced joyously as the little girl pranced playfully in front of her father. A contagious giggle filling the air. Her little legs did their best to outrun him as she larked about, twirling and jumping in a bubble of elation.

Carla smiles as he catches up with the child, crouching down and lifting her up into the air, holding her high above him, his prize trophy, the light of his life.

She squeals loudly, kicking her little legs, scrunching up her nose, her dark lashes framing her green eyes, eyes she'd inherited from her mother.

Carla smiles softly at the vision before her, the smile on his face, broad and full of a happiness he'd dreamed of. Gazing at his daughter, looking at her like she was the best thing that had ever happened to him, to them.

He kneels to put her down, shaking his head with amusement as she runs away from him, ever the cheeky one, towards the swings.

'Daddy, come' she calls, skipping with glee as she races towards the playground.

She reaches the swings before either of them, Carla walking leisurely, far behind, observing their play, their bond evident.

The child climbs onto the free swing, laughing, never stopping. And Carla doesn't see who reaches the swings first, who pushes her first.

She's laughing and swinging through the air yelling 'daddy'.

But then she's crying, screaming, and she's hurtling through the air, limbs flailing in every direction. The metal chains that she was gripping onto only moments ago now bare, no tiny fingers curled round their links.

It's all too fast.

Carla's running, her bag falls to the floor, and her heart, the heart that has been beating outside of her own body for the past 4 years is gone.

She's gone. It's all gone.


	2. Chapter 2

She bolts upright, her sight impaired by the pitch black darkness.

Her breathing is laboured, sweat has formed in droplets, rolling down her temples. The shirt she's been wearing in bed clings to her clammy body.

Her ears are ringing, loudly, and she looks anxiously around the room, trying to make out what's around her.

A voice begins to become louder and clearer, a hand on her back, arms pulling her in.

'Carla, Carla, it's okay, you were just dreaming' Peter says, pulling his distressed girlfriend into his embrace.

'My baby, our baby' she pants, one hand on her chest, as though trying to push her heart back inside her.

'Our baby?, what do you..' Peter trails off, as his initial confusion, heavily influenced by the fact he was still half asleep, wore off, and he understood she must have been dreaming about their daughter, the daughter they'd never met.

'She was right here, she was in your arms' she muttered, hanging her head down as she realised it had all been a dream, a dream that had started off so blissful, and ended so painfully.

'Oh love' he said, softly, pressing a kiss against her forehead, squeezing her small frame in his arms.

Truth be told, he couldn't muster the right words to say, the forever guilt he had for having betrayed his pregnant wife, at such a precious and emotional time in her life, would haunt him forever. He couldn't pretend he'd been anywhere near as connected to their baby, their daughter, as he should have been. And it was his fault. Had he been present, he could have grieved with her, helped her, held her. Maybe she'd have never even lost their little girl had all the shit he'd put her through not happened.

The pair rested in silence, for what felt like hours, in the bedroom they now shared at Ken's.

The rest of the street, bar Peter, Ken and even Simon had turned their backs on her. Michelle was torn, with anger for Carla's knowledge of the damage to factory roof, yet knowing her friend would never have left it had she really thought it would collapse.

Unable to take sides, or be seen as sitting on the fence, she'd resorted to taking the silent route, and Carla had barely seen her since the disastrous memorial for Rana, where Robert's pressure on Carla had caused her to crack and admit that she'd known the roof was damaged, and potentially dangerous.

Peter no longer cared about people's opinions of him, apart from his Carla. They'd spent the past year and half, teasing, tantalising and at each others necks, all because they were still madly in love but so frightened at the thought of going through the heart break that their love had brought them in the past.

Yet the second that he'd been told about the roof collapse, having turned Carla away just an hour before, the moment of clarification he needed had struck him, hard, fast and oh so clear.

He loved her. He always had. He always will. Their love was dangerous, intense, far too passionate for its own good, but it was also so intrinsic for him, he knew no matter what, he had to be with her, and he would fight to the death for her.

When he'd found her sobbing, howling, curled up in a tight ball, tucked away in a corner of Roy's cafe, his heart had broken, and it only served to confirm what he already knew, she needed him, and he needed to help her. Even when she'd admitted, through heavy tears and a guilty conscious that she'd known the roof needed replacing, he hadn't doubted when it came down to it, she was innocent and this was not her fault.

A hard faced cow, tight lipped bitch she may be to some, but he knew her core was soft and the ferocity of her cries could not have come from someone who didn't have anything but a heart of gold.

He'd tried with all his power, even with ten thousand pounds from his wallet, to convince her to keep the lies up. To point the blame elsewhere, as there seemed no explanation for the collapse other than her negligence, but with a bitter Robert, singling her out and goading her at Rana's memorial, what little strength she had, crumbled, the weight of the guilt she was carrying had fractured her resolve and out had come a frantic admission.

In that moment she became a pariah, the outcast. Those who'd once looked up to her, admired her, envied her, turned their backs. Kate was bitter, furious, betrayed. Imran was full of rage. Johnny was cold, unable to speak to her. And Roy, Roy was so disappointed and ashamed he'd told her to leave that very day, leaving her with no option but to ask Peter, in a flurry of pitiful tears if she could move in with him for a while.

Peter had of course agreed without hesitation, he wished he's asked her first but everything was so blurry he hadn't even thought. They did have Ken, quietly supporting them, like the gentle support of a hand on their backs.

He'd known Carla for long enough to know she was a flawed person, but a good one, with a big heart hidden, not that far, beneath her somewhat crisp demeanour.

And so he chose to be the black sheep.

Instead of casting her out, which would evidently mean pushing Peter away too, given he was now holding Carla's hand firmly, and infinitely, he drew her in, to his home.


	3. Chapter 3

The glares never stop. Intense and menacing. Burning right into her soul.

_'__You killed Rana'._

_'__You're a murderer Carla'._

_'__Kate already lost Aiden, and now she's lost Rana too. And it's all your fault'._

_'__It's all your fault'._

**_'_****_It's your fault, you made me do it'._**

She sucks in a breath of air, so quickly she almost doubles over. She can feel the growing sensation of nausea crawl up from her stomach to the back of her throat. The bitter taste of bile pooling in her mouth. She can't hold it, and she wretches, dropping to the floor, heaving, as she tries to discretely cover herself up.

Someone watches from across the street, her vision is hazy so she doesn't see who it is, but they don't come over, to help her. Instead the turn away, fading into grey. She feels their expression of disgust sear her skin, marking her, branding her, _the exile_, and she wants to crawl inside herself, disappear. She feels so alone and yet so exposed.

Strong but tender fingers pull the hair from her face, an arm curls around her waist and pulls her up and into their owners arms.

'Shh, it's okay, darling' Peter's words are muffled by the way his lips are buried into her hair.

She tried to push him away, covering her mouth. 'I've been sick' she mumbles, making an uncoordinated gesture towards the floor, as he nods.

'I know, don't think that matters to me' he responds, pulling her right back into his arms, rubbing her back, concealing her vulnerable frame from prying eyes.

'Take me home Peter, please take me home'. She squeezes her eyes shit, almost wanting him to lift her up and carry her away, like a child.

Hours later, and a steaming hot coffee in her hands, Peter's jumper, oversized on her body, tucked away in their bedroom, she was freed from the judgement of others for a short while.

Peter sighed, and sat on the bed beside her. He let his eyes trace her silhouette, which was growing smaller and more frail by the day. What little she did consume, was mainly strong black coffee, and perhaps a piece of toast here and there. She barely ventured out, and when she did, it usually ended in her coming back in floods of tears, or him having to go out and find her, probably hunched on a park bench, cold and in silence.

It pained him to watch the woman he loved so much to be so distant and such a shadow of her former self. To be taunted and blamed for something he couldn't believe she was at fault for. For the family she'd only just gained to turn their backs on her, even Roy, normally the voice of reason, full of compassion, to treat her like an acquaintance, not someone who'd practically become a daughter to him.

The musky smell of tobacco filled the room, pulling him from his thoughts. He watch her, hands shaky as she rolled herself a cigarette, leaning against the bedroom window. She'd taken to smoking in the previous weeks, in a bid to calm her nerves, which were shot. It had starting with her taking a drag or two of his, then they'd share the odd fag, then she was rolling her own and now, even without him, he'd often find her in the ginnel, lost in her own imagination dragging slowly on a cigarette.

In the past, he'd found it alluring, the odd occasion where she'd pry one from his hand, exhaling smoke that shrouded her in a sexy haze of mist. But now it saddened him, it'd become a crutch, one of the few things that seemed to get her through each day. Days that where getting longer.


	4. Chapter 4

When Peter had finished his shift on a moody Friday evening, he'd expected to find her, curled up on their bed like he normally did. Staring into space, or asleep. But instead, he'd walked in to find her chirpy and upbeat, almost like old times.

She'd curled her hair, bronzed her face, swept a glossy brush of crimson red colour onto her plump lips. She was wearing a tight, figure hugging black dress, skimming her thighs, low cut, but tasteful. Her heels were back on, and she planted an eager kiss against his lips as he came in.

'Hey, baby' he said, giving her a lustful look, putting his hand on her waist, and leaning in to reciprocate her kiss.

'I thought we could go out, have a date?' she said, her voice high with excitement.

But he detected the quiver, the shrillness. He saw the way, almost masked by her slick appearance, her hands shook, her browns furrowed, her lips, swollen from where she'd been sinking her teeth into them in a bid to stem her anxiety.

She was trying, so hard, to put on a brave face. She wanted to be the woman she once was. Fiery, able to stand up for herself. But the fact was she believed herself to be guilty. It was her fault Rana, her sister's fiancé, her would have been sister in law, was now dead. Killed, murdered, all because of her selfish and negligent actions.

Throwing his jacket onto the side of the sofa, Peter put both hands on Carla's shoulders, before leaning in for a soft kiss. He used his thumb to tilt her chin up so she was looking at him, and he caressed her cheek, running the pad of his thumb over her sharp cheekbone.

'How was your day?' he asked her, curiously.

'Great, I mean it was great, I got up, even thought about getting the factory up and running' she said, nodding as though to convince herself that what she said was true.

'And now the truth?' he said as he felt her deflate in his hands.

'I didn't do anything, bar try and make myself pretty.. I thought a date.., I wanted to be..' she trails off as he lets out a quiet chuckle.

'You, darling, never need to make yourself look pretty, you were born pretty, beautiful.. perfect' he says before catching her lips in a soft peck, lingering.

A few hours later they are sat together, 'This is nice' Carla smiles, Peter's green jacket draped over her shoulders, the pair on a park bench, his arm around her shoulders.

'It's good, to get out of the house' Peter said, inhaling deeply, letting his head rest against hers, as they watched insignificant people pass by.

'I meant, to be able to sit here, without being shouted at, or.. stared at, or made out to be some kind of criminal..' Carla said, sniffing as a tear slid down her cheek.

'Hey, no tears, not today, now now' Peter said, pulling her into him, stroking her hair.

'Just focus on the here and now, us, you and me' he continued, whilst Carla stared ahead of herself, his words dissipating into an echo as the guilt in her head ruminated, round and round, over and over.

Would it ever stop?

Days later, Carla found herself consumed by the volatile state of her mind once more.

_'__Murdering bitch' 'It shouldn't have been Rana, it should have been you that died' 'You're dead to me Carla, you hear that, dead' _

Kate's voice is heavy and breathy, intense and angry. Carla's eyes dart across the street, back and forth, she wraps her arms around herself as the voice gets louder. Her heart begins to beat faster, thumping hard in her chest.

She looks around, the voices coming from all different directions. Her hands are on her ears and she finds herself backing up, into a corner that wasn't there.

'Carla!' it's like a bubble that has been popped, reality hits her hard and fast, a firm grip on her arms, pulling her sideways with brut force.

'Carla, are you listening to me? You almost got run over!'. Peter's voice suddenly ricochets into her present, frantic and frightened. He shakes her to bring her back, to get her to focus.

She shakes her head, seemingly unbothered by the fact he'd just saved her, that she'd just put herself in danger.

'Come on, we're going home' Peter said, pulling her up as she turns her head to look behind her, as though someone is watching.

She closes her eyes, letting him take the lead, guiding her back to Ken's with panic in his pace.

'Carla, sweetheart, I really think it might be worth going to see Ali, seeing if we can get you some help. You're not coping' Peter said as he put a hot cup of tea in front of her.

'Peter, I'm fine, I was just tired, you know I haven't been sleeping' she said, flashing him smile and shaking her head.

'You're not fine, Carla. You're exhausted, you're blaming yourself for something that is not your fault, how many times can I tell you?' he sighed, worried about her, concerned at the rate at which she seemed to be slipping further and further away.

'You don't get it, do you?', she stands up, so abruptly he is taken aback by how quick she responds.

'It is my fault, it's my doing, or my lack of doing? I was so caught up, trying to keep everything afloat, trying not love you, trying to make amends.. and she died, she died because of me'.

Her words cut him but he hasn't time to be wounded as by now she is sobbing angry tears, shaking her head, her hands quivering as she brings them to her face.

He tries to hold her but she shrugs him away, again and again, and then she pushes him and turns round, walking quickly to the door, and slamming it shut.

'Leave me alone' she shouts, with tears streaming down her cheeks as he tries to follow her.

'I mean it Peter, I need to be alone'.


	5. Chapter 5

She leans against the cold metal rail of the bed, inhaling deeply, exhaling through gritted teeth. Her long her clings to her clammy skin.

She moans, deep and loud, for as long as she can, her eyes, squeezed shut, her forehead resting on her arms that are crossed on the bed.

She rocks back and forth, in sync with the strong waves of pain that run down her body.

Her thighs quiver, her toes curl and she grips the bed, her knuckles turning white, her eyes wide.

Loving hands, cold, press against the small of her back, compressing her muscles in slow, circular motions. He kisses the back of her head, letting her lean against him, in a moment of calm.

'You're doing brilliantly' a compassionate voice urges her on.

She feels the heat, the burn, the searing pressure and it feels like she is falling apart. She gasps, trying to regulate her oxygen intake by panting, releasing a deep hum she feels the body within her own, make its decent into life.

She feels each and every movement, as her infant's head is born, followed by its body, a rush of elation, pain and total incomprehensible fear.

Yet as the small, slippery child is brought close to her bossom, the moment isn't marked by those longed for first cries. The room is quiet and the infant's limbs are limp and floppy against her skin.

The cold pallor of their skin doesn't flush pink and rosey but remains grey and tired. They make no effort to nuzzle her breast or cling to their mother.

Everyone in the room disappears and the child in her arms, the one she'd just given birth to, hours or pain and tears, isn't really there.

She screams, an excruciating, piercing, devastating call for help. It comes from so deep that it rips her insides apart, she grabs onto the lifeless baby that is slipping further and further from her grip.

It's ringing in her ears. The pitch gets higher and higher until it's going to burst her eardrums. She howls, an eternal longing for the child she almost had.

She rocks back and forth, holding her head in her hands as the scene plays over and over, on repeat. She feels the empty space inside her, the one that had grown her daughter for those few, short months.

Someone tries to approach her but she sends them away, and so they leave, backing away like she's some sort of plague.

The vision is so real, her baby is so real, her heart is breaking and there is nothing she is able to do to stop it happening. She wants Peter, she needs him. To have and to hold her. He is the only one she longs for, but she doesn't have the control in her mind to pick the phone up and call him..

'I just don't know what to do, Dad? You know, I want to help her, I want to get her through this, but she just blames herself' Peter said, head in his hands.

'Maybe you could speak to Ali, see if he could, refer her to someone, someone she can talk to? Ken sighed as Peter shook his head.

'I've tried that, I suggested it to her but she just shrugs me off, says she is tired. It doesn't help with everyone, her own father, blaming her for something she didn't do' Peter said, feeling an anger build inside him.

'Peter, forget everyone else. I you love her, then you need to go after her. Find her, and bring her home'.


	6. Chapter 6

_Just a quick thank you for the lovely reviews, they are really kind._

Peter had been walking the streets for hours, he'd gone to Roy's, the Rover's, with the faint hope that she just might have reached out to her family for help, though he knew, deep down, that he wouldn't find her there.

He pauses for a moment, trying to think, where would she go? Who would she want. He found himself biting down on his lip as he presses his mind, the lines in his face drawing into an expression of concern.

He wasn't far off calling the police, he was that worried, when he realised where he'd most likely find her.

He shook his head, annoyed that it had taken him this long to figure it out. He picks up his pace and makes his way towards Aiden's grave.

Like he'd expected, he saw a small figure, sat, hunched up in a ball, in front of the grave. As he got closer he see's the way she is clutching herself, arms around her knees, in a protective manner.

Walking up to her, he crouches down beside her, pulling the dark tendrils of hair off her face. Her expression is blank, her eyes, no longer woeful, but glassy and unfocused. She doesn't even seem to registered that he is there.

She sways slightly, back and forth in a repetitive manner, softly, in some sort of trance. She'd been crying, he could tell by the opaque trails that swirled down her cheeks, washing her makeup away with them.

Her cheeks were mottled with rosey pink from the cold, her hands, white, gripping her legs forcefully.

'Carla, baby' he speaks quietly, putting his hand tentatively on her shoulder.

She doesn't move.

Instead she just gazes ahead of herself, lost, in her own oblivion.

Peter sighs, and sits himself down beside her, grunting as the rain that had settled on the damp grass seeps into his the denim of his jeans and cools his skin. She must have been freezing.

'Ey, he'd be proud of you, how far you've come' Peter said, his voice thick and heavy, as looks at Aiden's headstone.

His comment rouses her from her dream like state, and she scoffs sarcastically.

'You think? Proud of me? He'd want out' to do with me, that's what' Carla says, her voice quavering though her face, remains expressionless.

'Oh come on, Carla, you know he would be. How well you've managed, since the transplant, he'd know you had nothing to do with Ra.. the factory' Peter trails off, hitting a nerve.

Her head spins round, her olive eyes suddenly dark and dilated. 'He'd hate me' she seethes, practically spitting, drawing in a hard breath.

'No, no he wouldn't hate you, no one does hate you, they're just angry, and upset, Carla this wasn't your fault, you hear me, none of this is your fault' Peter says, his voicing rising, as he tries to instil in her what he believes true.

Her lip curls up, almost in anger, her brows narrow, her cheekbones sharp. She seems so anger, so full of hatred for herself, he couldn't get through to her.

Then almost instantaneously she softens, releasing a long sign, leaning into Peter who gladly opens his arm to welcome her.

'He'd have been a great Dad, our Aiden. Suzie will never know how wonderful he was' Carla muses, imagining the brother she'd only had for a few precious months.

She closes her heavy eyes, picturing his smile, shy, his eyes, warm, welcoming. The way he was so protective over Kate. The gentle manner he carried himself with.

'He saved me, he gave me life, Peter' she whispers as Peter holds her.

'I know, I know, and you've got to live that life Carla, you've got to stop blaming yourself, sweetheart' Peter says, feeling his eyes drown with tears, quickly wiping them away.

He feels Carla's temperature begin to warm up, her slow heartbeat thumping lazily in her chest.

'Let's get you home, I just want to lie with you, hold you' he smiles, feeling her melt into his embrace.

'Home' she mumbles, so quietly even he doesn't even hear her.

'What home?'.


	7. Chapter 7

The visions are coming more frequently now. She isn't sure whether they are dreams or a warped reality, screwed and cruel, they feel so real at times.

Mostly they begin as a blur of happiness before, that happiness, is cruelly torn away from her. But today, sat, alone, in an empty booth in the Rover's, she closes her eyes and the vision that follows is soft and gentle and everything she so desperately craved. Lost in the hazy vault of her mind, she allows herself to basque in a few moments of pure happiness, without torture, without pain.

She closes her eyes, and suddenly her arms are full. The warm weight of her baby, heavy in her arms, but even heavier in her heart. She runs her finger over her daughter's cheek, so soft, so precious. She watches the way her little hand, tiny fingers, curl into a fist around the material of her mothers shirt. Little lips, rosey, mouth clamped firmly against her mother's breast as she feeds hungrily. The let down of milk is a relief and she breathes heavily, feeling her love bleeding into her child. The occasional movement of a little foot. She is in ecstasy.

'What is she doing here?' Kate's voice is bitter and sad.

'Kate, she's only having a drink' Johnny says, cautiously, torn, putting his hand on his youngest daughter's shoulder.

'She killed Rana, she killed my Rana!' Kate says, shaking her head with angry tears.

Carla comes round from her fragile vision and her eyes lock with Kate's.

'Get out' Kate says, marching over to Carla. She recoils, unnervingly scared of her younger sister, who's eyes were bright and big with fury.

'Kate, I'm so sorry, please, just let me talk..' Carla speaks, her voice, walking on glass, barely able to maintain eye contact, reaching her hand out for Kate's.

'Talk? I never want to talk to you again, I never want to see you again!' Kate glowered, wiping her tears away.

'I went to Aiden's grave today' Carla blurts out, unsure of why she's even mentioned it, and immediately regrets it as Kate cracks.

'And you think he'd be proud, of what you've.. become. A murdered? Aiden would be ashamed of you, you call yourself our sister, you're nothing but a murderer' Kate shouts, her voice now loud and clear and full of venom.

Carla feels the words come crashing down, each one like a piercing object being pushed deeper and deeper into her heart. She feels her blood fall, her head going light, her knuckles are white as she grips the glass in her hand so tightly it might break.

'I think you better go' Johnny says coldly, his focus on Kate as Carla stands up, her legs weak.

She hasn't the energy, the words, to say anything. She wants to move but she doesn't find it in herself to go. She feels the eyes around her, glaring, burning into her.

'Murderer' she hears a cacophony of silky whispers whirl around her head, shifting around her head, one minute louder in one ear, the next the other. Bowing her head, she exits the pub, quickly and quietly.

And then everything is black. She doesn't know where she is going or why but her legs are taking her somewhere far away. The following actions she makes are not ones she makes with any conscious thought. Her mind is dark and deep, hurtful words, piercing stares, closing in. Her breath is fast and her heart is struggling to keep up with her but she carries on.

And then she feels herself, falling back against a wall, sliding down to the floor. She sobs, bringing her hands to muffle the noise she is making, the dirty, furious cries that break free.

She wants out.


	8. Chapter 8

Picture this.

You're alone, slumped against a cold white wall. Your clothes are doing little to provide a barrier between your fragile skin and the bitter cold air that circulates the room.

What you see before you, and the sound that rings in your ears are not in sync, they do not match.

There are people around you, several. Talking around you, to you, at you. And yet whilst you see them, you are unable to acknowledge your surroundings.

Instead, you are sent, hurtling with such force you break out into a sweat, into a different dimension of your mind.

You hear voices, loud, and clear, in every single corner of your mind. You look around, searching for the origin of those familiar voices, yet you can't find them. What you see is unrelated, the people don't match.

You hold your head, pressing your hands against your ears, desperately trying to drown out the haunting words those familiar voices repeat, over and over.

You're caving in and there's nothing you can do about it.

Your mind feels like it is turning itself inside out and all you can do to stop it is..

Ahh, the rush. That rush. That gentle trickle of calm, that becomes a flow, then a wave. Every muscle in your body relaxes and your mind suddenly releases itself, twirling away from those crippling thoughts, like a swollen balloon, riding high as it releases it's air.

You feel your eye lids become heavy, and there's little point making any effort to keep them open.

The disorienting vision of the scene before you is no longer stressful, it fades to black as you close your eyes.

The voices in your head dissipate into blissful oblivion and you are finally alone.

You are finally free.

You are high.


	9. Chapter 9

_Flashback_.

She doesn't recall how she managed to end up, curled up on a mattress, in the dingy back room of a derelict house, a squat for the homeless.

You see she was homeless, she didn't have a home, not of her own. Roy had kicked her out, and she couldn't stay with Peter forever.

Peter, her lovely Peter. The man she loved more than life itself. The man she had hated herself for loving. The man she'd said she'd never get back with.

She groaned as someone entered the room, a young man, dark features, handsome had it not been for the fact he desperately needed a shave and his dark eyes sat atop tired, grey bags.

He offers a can, but she merely shakes her head. So he reaches into his pocket, pulling out his stash.

She sucks in her breath, for just a moment, she is very present, and she questions what she is doing.

But the voices in her head lure her back into the venomous depths of her mind and she finds herself pulling up her sleeve and offering the man her arm.

She doesn't flinch as the sharp tip of the needles pierces her skin, and the slender length of the needle is pushed into her vein.

Within seconds the drug is coursing through her blood, shooting up straight towards her heart.

And then the soft thud of exhaustion, the blissful type, when you come back from a horrific day of work, and can finally put your feet up, hits her.

She closes her eyes and feels every last bit of her become heavy, sinking into her pillow. She feels like she is falling, yet being held. She is safe.

_Present_.

It's been 8 days since he saw her. 8 long days. He yearns to hold her, to kiss her, to protect her. His partner. It's always been her, and now he knows he can never, ever let her go. But her worrying absence has left him drained and craving that far too familiar feeling of cold liquor trickling down his throat, pooling in his stomach until the bottle is empty..

He can't. He's got to keep going. She's out there somewhere, and she needs him. He'll find her if it kills him. The police weren't doing any good, so if they weren't going to do their jobs properly, he would.

'Peter, it's too early, the sun's not even up yet' Ken's wise voice echoes from the living room, as Peter's footsteps creak on the stairs.

Peter looks at his father, his figure casting an eerie figure thanks to the dimly lit room.

'The earlier I start, the longer I have to find her' Peter's tired voice replies.

Ken knows better than to argue with his son and nods, letting Peter go.


	10. Chapter 10

Peter stares down at the photo he has pulled up of Carla on his phone. The photo he has been showing people, asking if they've seen her. His heart skips a beat as he drinks in her luscious features, how he ever managed to screw things up when he had the best thing he'd ever had, was a question he often put to himself.

'Have you seen this woman?' he asks over and over, his voice heavy with desperation.

God, what if she is lying in a gutter somewhere, intoxicated, unconscious? He can't bare to think of the other scenarios, her body, floating, limp in a canal, without feeling the bile in his stomach lash around and threaten to lurch out of his mouth.

Flecks of rain begin to spit from the sky and he pulls his jacket around himself, ducking into a random cafe to keep dry and fuel up on coffee, plan his next move.

He savours the heat radiating from the mug of coffee in his hands. The strong earthy taste of the rich grind, permeating his cells with the much needed energy he so desperately needed.

Each second without her she was spiralling further and further away from him, he'd only just got her back and her mind was stealing her…

The hard thud that wakes her moves her entire body. She opens her eyes and winces at the light of day as it floods her peripheral vision.. A looming figure leans over her, lips curled, breath rancid and hot.

'Cough up, now, pretty lady' he snarls, his thick brows are furrowed and wild, his dark eyes blood shot and red.

Pulling herself up, Carla looks around, shuffling back, away from the man.

Her head throbs and her hands shake, and she tries to make sense of it all.

'I said, cough up' the voice is laced with urgency now, and he grabs her arm, tightly.

It's a move that causes her to recoil, her heart jumping out of her chest. For a split second she is taken right back to that night, pinned to the floor, fear paralysing her as Frank takes what he wants and leaves her, robbed.

Focus.

'I don't have, any, money left' her breath, laboured and slow, she's telling the truth. What notes where stashed in her pocked had been spent and her cards maxed out.

'Well, that's going to be a bit of a problem then' he whispers, digging his dirty finger nails into her arm, almost puncturing her pale skin.

'Please, I'm sorry, I'll get you the money, if you let me go, just let me go' fear has now taken over and she knows she needs to get out of there. What on earth has she been doing. She wants to run but he doesn't let her.

He runs a finger down her cheek, relishing the fear in her eyes, the way her pupils dilate and her she swallows anxiously.

'I'm not letting you go anywhere, you don't have money, really, a nice bird like you' he questions, letting his eyes run up and down her body, as she shakes her head.

'Seriously, let me go, I'll get you money' she says as he laughs, before lurching himself forward at her.

'I'm not stupid, and I'm not soft' he shouts, before throwing a heavy punch into her side.

She groans, the air escaping her lungs, starving her of the ability to scream.

Over and over he launches his attack, kicking and punching her, watching her curl into a fetal position, trying to protect her tender stomach, but his force is too much and each kick weakens her a little more.

Tacky, metallic blood pools in her throat causing her to gag and splutter. It trickles down from her nose, over her philtrum and onto her lips.

Make it stop. Make it stop. She is sobbing loudly, this is what she deserves. She killed Rana so now she is going to pay. It's only fair, eye for an eye and all that.

She can hear the anger and hurt in Kate's voice, the gleeful eyes on onlookers, Johnny, Roy, Michelle, Maria, Leanne, as they cheer in the crowd as she is ground down.

She doesn't even realise it has stopped, the man is gone, and she is alone, until her pitiful cries fade out, and it all goes black.


	11. Chapter 11

It takes Peter two weeks of frantic searching to find her. And never once had he considered giving up. Not this time.

It was only when a dark haired youth, hanging around a rough estate, a few miles from Coronation Street had recognised her, swearing he'd seen her hanging around with some men, just days earlier.

Peter's heart had sunk, he had no idea what state she was in and who these men were. After asking around he was eventually directed to a derelict building, old and run down, and wholly uninviting.

He'd knocked on the door, rusty and peeling with paint, but got no answer.

So he'd kicked it in, not that it was hard to break open. He'd called her name, scrunching his nose up at the mere thought of her being here. But alas, he had found her, unconscious in one of the empty rooms, just a mattress in the corner.

'Carla, oh my god, sweetheart, Carla' he'd shouted, rushing to her side, shaking her, gasping when he saw she was bloody and bruised, her arms mottled with puce coloured strokes.

When the ambulance arrived, he refused to let her out of his arms, he stroked her hair, letting his fingers massage her scalp as they assessed her and put in an iv catheter, reassuring him she was alive, but in dire need of hospital assistance.

It was only when they questioned him if he knew if she was a drug user, gesturing to the needles discarded on the floor that he was unable to hold back, retching and vomiting in a corner of the room.

He shook his head furiously, 'She wouldn't, not Carla' he said indignantly but the tears in his eyes told a different story.

By the time they'd made it to the hospital it felt like forever, the minutes felt like hours, the coffee cup in his hand now cold.

'My Barlow?' a gruff voice called, Peter's head shooting up in response.

'Would you like to come through?' he said, beckoning Peter who nodded, grabbing his jacket and following the Dr until they came to Carla's room.

The Dr paused, putting his hand on Peter's forearm to get his attention before entering the room.

'Mr Barlow, whilst Carla is stable, I must make you aware she had sustained some serious injuries. Along with several broken ribs, we believe she has some internal bleeding, it looks as though she has been attacked'.

'Internal bleeding? Attacked? Is she okay? Is she going to be okay?' the urgency in Peter's voice resulting in the Dr interrupting him.

'As we have managed to stabilise her bleeding, she is no urgent danger, however, once the operating theatre is free, we will be taking her up to investigate where this is coming from, we are aware she had a kidney transplant quite recently, therefore it is our priority to establish exactly where the bleeding is coming from'.

'No urgent danger? She was half dead!' Peter's voice was louder than he'd intended.

'I can assure you, Mr Barlow, Carla is our top priority.. I must add, there is a slight complication, of a sensitive matter we need to make you aware of'.

'Mr Barlow, traces of diamorphine, heroin, were found in Carla's blood, enough to suggest this is a very recent.. she must have taken it recently' the Dr spoke gravely.

'Look, just get her better, make her better, please' Peter urged him.

The Dr gave Peter a sympathetic smile, before allowing him into the room.

'I know it can be a bit of a shock..' the Dr could see the unsettlement in Peter's eyes, the way he scanned her body, watching her chest rise and fall thanks to the ventilator she was attached to, the repetitive sound it made filling the room.

Checking her OBs, the Dr made a quick exit, saying he'd be back shortly, wanting to allow Peter time with his girlfriend, who was hanging on despite her grave situation.

'Oh Car, darling' Peter whispered softly, stroking her cheek, wires and tubes preventing him from kissing her lips.

'What happened to you?'.


	12. Chapter 12

_So I totally lost motivation for all my stories, I tried to rewrite this and I may do in the future but for now, here is the next chapter. I need to decide where I am taking this before uploading the next! Thanks all!_

'There was a complication' the tone of his voice is grave and monotone.

'What type of, complication?' Peter's voice is shaken, and his eyes a red from crying.

'We discovered that her internal bleeding was coming from her liver, there was a relatively large laceration to the organ, and whilst normally that in itself isn't too serious, the blunt force that caused this injury resulted in a hematoma, which is a blood clot. Unfortunately this ruptured, which resulted in her loosing a lot of blood. The only way we could stem the bleeding was to remove a small section of her liver'.

'Is she going to make it?' was all Peter could muster as he tried to process the huge amount of information he'd been given.

'It is touch and go, she is very weak, and in addition to the resection we did on her liver, there were a few minor bleeds in her abdomen, however, I believe she remains stable over the next 24 hours, her chance of a full recovery is very good. Now Mr Barlow, why don't you go in and sit with her as I have to go over my case notes. A nurse will be in shortly, and I will be back this evening'.

And then it was just Peter and Carla in the room, surrounded by these alien wires and tubes. The machine's bleeps and ticks, regular and steady, working away in the background to keep her stable.

'Oh Car' Peter said as he reached for her, being careful so as not to disturb the needle in her hand. He studied her fingers, her palm, so soft, so delicate. He ran his hand over the bruise on her wrist, its purple and grey stains, so aggressive against her pale skin.

He remembers all those years ago when he had found her limp and lifeless, barely a pulse keeping her alive. He'd cradled her in his arms, willing her to stay strong and make it, and whilst she had, he's promised himself he would never let her reach that point again.

'I'm sorry, I'm sorry I let it get this bad, I'm sorry you were frightened, that you ran away. Car, when this is all over, when you are better lets just get away, back tot he Caribbean yeah? You loved it there, I've never seen you so happy' Peter mumbled against her skin, holding her hand up to his face as he spoke to her, tears in his eyes.

He thought about her family, and how badly they'd treated her. He felt for Kate, god, he knew she was going through hell, but the way she had turned against Carla so bitterly, it made him angry. Johnny had been useless, so much for loving his daughter, and after everything with Aiden, Peter could barely comprehend why he hadn't been out there searching for his vulnerable daughter, night and day.

It was just them now, against the world. Peter had been so close to drinking, so close to giving up hope of finding her. He felt the weight on his shoulders alleviated, now he had her back, and yet a new weight, one of uncertainty as he watched her lay silently on the bed, was no growing heavier each hour that passed.


End file.
